


trace of ink

by antagonists



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6518362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antagonists/pseuds/antagonists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinobi, after all, are best suited for painting shadows, whispering poison, for locking away the human heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trace of ink

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers if u havent finished conquest

*

 

 

In the few months following King Sumeragi’s passing, Saizou sees his liege age years right before his eyes. As the eldest child, he too knows the pains and responsibilities of carrying on the family name, but he knows not of ruling, of comforting a hurting nation. Shinobi, after all, are best suited for painting shadows, whispering poison, for locking away the human heart. Prince Ryouma is gentle where he is not, understanding where he is rash, (loving where he is cold).

 

Outside, Prince Ryouma is a beam of sunlight, casting the warmth of summer dawns over the mourning peoples, smiling though he himself is breaking.

 

On an autumn evening, he asks Saizou if his smile looks genuine.

 

“Of course, milord,” Saizou says, both startled by the question and unprepared to answer. He is always ready to follow an order, but when Ryouma treats him as more than a servant, as more than he has been trained to be, he never knows how to respond.

 

“I guess if you say so, Saizou,” Prince Ryouma says quietly, hand still on his brush over the untouched ink, “then I must be doing a fairly good job of it.”

 

“I would not question anything that you did,” Saizou returns.

 

The prince slowly begins practicing his calligraphy, steady brushstrokes over the paper. “If you do, I would like for you to tell me.”

 

“It is not my place.”

 

 _The strike of lightning, breath of storms, scattering the sunset_. Saizou’s never been good at poetry, but Ryouma has taken to brush with as much fervor as he does the sword after Kamui had been spirited away. (After his father had died). Since Saizou has been trained to push his physical and mental limits rather than study literature, he often finds the prince’s vague poems somewhat difficult to understand. The span of inky characters down papyrus is familiar, yet the truths still seem to escape him.

 

The prince does enjoy hidden meanings, after all, and Saizou is somewhat ashamed that he isn’t able to pry apart these secrets as well as he can someone’s traitorous jaw. Still, it is not his place to question his master.

 

“You have more than earned the right,” Prince Ryouma frowns. “Is it out of mere duty that you bear with me? I’d like it if you spoke honestly, Saizou.”

 

Behind his mask, Saizou sighs inaudibly. He lowers his head to stare at the tatami, count the woven straw. The floor is hard on his knees after sitting with his liege for so long. “Duty brought me to you,” he admits. “But it is not the only reason I serve you.”

 

“If I were to die,” the prince muses, and Saizou nearly flinches at the thought. “I understand if you must find a new master.”

 

“I serve only you, Lord Ryouma,” Saizou replies instead. The prince hums thoughtfully and returns to his calligraphy.

 

_Doth the firebird weep, asks the sea, doth the firebird sleep?_

 

Princess Hinoka rushes into the room, then, bright-eyed and young and determined. It’s surprising she hasn’t tripped over the hem of her kimono, but she’s always had a way of escaping her caretakers half-dressed. In this small moment of surprise, the brush hand slips, smearing ink over Prince Ryouma’s encrypted torment. Both the sea and the firebird disappear beneath a veneer of black, and Saizou closes his eye. His head hurts.

 

“Teach me how to fight,” the princess says. Her brother sets his brush down and smiles at her, vulnerable feelings forgotten.

 

 

*

 

 

Prince Ryouma is still growing, limbs stretching out slowly and jaw still with a gentle curve. He is sent in for armor-refitting often, spends much of his time in the dojo to train with a practice sword. On occasion, Saizou will see his liege with his hair tied into a messy ponytail, longer with every passing month, dark with streaks of sweat. His hakama is bright in the darkness of the dojo, empty long after lessons have ended.

 

“It is nearing supper time, milord.” Saizou averts his eye carefully. He still has days where headaches blind him, where the memories of torture and blood wake him, but Prince Ryouma has never pried too much. He’s too kind. “Queen Mikoto is awaiting you.”

 

“Ah,” says the prince, as is now only noticing that the skies have begun to grow dark. He’s been training for so long that sweat has soaked through the sleeves and body of his hakama, plastering the garment to his skin. Prince Ryouma sets aside the wooden sword for a moment to retie his hair. Saizou swallows quietly. “Have you been watching long?”

 

“It is my duty to ensure you are safe,” Saizou says.

 

“Since I told my mother I didn’t want guards around me all day,” Prince Ryouma finishes. “Fair enough, seeing as you are more than trustworthy in my eyes.”

 

They walk to the changing room, where Saizou turns his back and takes pieces of the prince’s hakama to give to the servants later. He wordlessly helps the prince in doing the obi to his pale kimono, heart in his throat from the close proximity. Saizou is more used to handling dead bodies than he is with the living, and the warmth makes him feel as though he can’t handle the fabric tie adequately enough. If Prince Ryouma notices, he is considerate enough to keep it unmentioned.

 

 

*

 

 

During the first mission that Saizou has with Kagerou, they exchange only brief conversations. She is quiet, efficient, dedicated above all else. She fights as though she has something to prove, fights to erase the hostility towards her dear brother and their honor.

 

“You were Queen Mikoto’s retainer,” he mentions vaguely as they make camp in the higher branches of a tree. No fire, since light and smoke attracts unwarranted attention. They are used to it; he has seen colder nights in thinner dress, and he is sure that she has, too.

 

“She worries for his safety. I am here to guarantee it.”

 

“I am the only one he needs,” Saizou seethes, and Kagerou can hear the venom and dissatisfaction in his voice. She ignores it and opts to continue to write in her journal. He has seen her art before and questions the thoughts that run through her head; her paintings are gruesome, sometimes, almost hellish. It is as though she has caged demons within her mind and lost the key to their chains, lets them roam free.

 

They return from the mission highly successful. Prince Ryouma thanks them both with a heartfelt smile, and suddenly Saizou cannot see anything past those kind, weary eyes.

 

 

*

 

 

Prince Ryouma writes him a poem, once.

 

“I feel as though I’m not doing enough for you in return,” he had said. It has been years and years, yet Saizou is still unaccustomed to his master’s generosity. “If there is anything you wish for, name it and I will do everything in my power to fulfill it.”

 

But Saizou knows, too, that there are dreams that are better left forgotten, wishes better left unsaid. Give voice to a small dream, and it will clamor all the more louder, desperate and pleading. He is through with begging.

 

“I could not ask for anything more,” he tells his prince. “It is the greatest honor to serve you.”

 

Prince Ryouma dons his brilliant armor and carries the thunder god’s sword. He steps onto the battlefield and fells odium and flames and faceless nightmares, fells demon after demon that dares steal their peace, their dear mother. Trek through fort and forest, dirt and gravel rhythm beneath their tired feet. Days and nights press hard on the warriors’ backs, remind them of the betrayal of their forgotten princess when the moon sags low and forlorn between the stars.

 

_Swallow’s regret lost in wind, seeking summer warmth, long forsaken in shadow._

 

“Tomorrow,” Prince Ryouma says solemnly to the despairing faces of their soldiers who’ve long lost their homes, their friends, some without families. “We will make our last stand before my mother’s throne. We fight in her memory, in the memory of all the valiant souls who have been taken from the battlefield and their homes.”

 

Later, Saizou watches Prince Ryouma untie his long and unruly hair, reveal bloody cuts and bruises to the gentle fires, and he wants—and _wants_.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> this is why u dont leave me unsupervised  
>   
>   
> 


End file.
